


see me bare my teeth

by doubtthestars



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Childhood Friends, M/M, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6252025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtthestars/pseuds/doubtthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your eyebrows give you away." Said eyebrows tilted and wiggled in displeasure as Philipp fought the instinctual tilt of his head by raising his chin. He smiled placidly at him recovering his cool disaffection, which made Micha want to break something expensive.</p><p>"Crown prince Philipp," he starts, bowing his head for a moment in deference to the title before raising his head high, "I would like to formally call off our engagement." </p><p>childhood frenemies in an arranged marriage Royalty AU!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ascience](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascience/gifts).



> playing fast and fucking loose with a royalty AU bc Frauke owns my soul or smth. /shrug
> 
> also look at [this](https://56.media.tumblr.com/fe90ac4fddf583aad9e59ef3a30ed3ea/tumblr_o41gh0i2Wb1tz8ec7o1_540.jpg)

This had not been in his plans. 

"What about Claudia?" Philipp's voice is edging into desperate territory, throwing out the only name he could think of to stop this bizarre request from his father and King. His mind raced with the possibilities. Could the King suddenly be ill, or had the symptoms been kept from him? There had to be some part of the picture missing from his knowledge to propel this action. He could not, in good conscience, deny his sovereign without an excellent reason. Claudia was the only trump card he had left. Philipp winced and asked forgiveness silently for putting his once-consort in such a position.

Bastian and Miro tried to school their expressions into more polite bewilderment. Philipp felt his stomach churn in dread.

"Your Highness," Miro bowed at the waist quickly, "Princess Claudia has already consented to a match with another. If my Prince would give me a moment to find the pertinent information, I would gladly--" He waved off the formality and the offer. Basti put up his feet on the chair next to him and quirked an eyebrow in amusement.

"Miro, I think you'd be better off attending to Fips' impending meltdown than figuring out when Claudia's nuptials are." Philipp doesn't give him notice as he drops into the chair that had been his footrest as a slight punishment. Miro looks worriedly between the Prince and the servant blending into the decor with a tray of water and wine. 

"Fat help you are, not telling your best friend the news," He hisses. Bastian snorted in clear dismissal of the reproach. Miro continued to wring his hands not-so-subtly. As court advisor and personal friend of the Prince, his duty was to keep him appraised of everything and anything. Basti gestured to the cups which had finally spurred the server on.

"It happened when you were on the continent, so many things happened while you went on your merry vacation from the kingdom. I hardly thought it of consequence, your once-love getting engaged didn't seem like something to bother you. It has been, what, five years now?" He switched the water with the wine. knowing Philipp would be too proud to do it himself, best friend and personal counsel duties gave him some leeway. 

Philipp didn't complain as the bitter-sweet drink touched his tongue. His eyebrows set heavy on his face. 

"Your Highness," Miro interrupted the Prince's musings before Bastian could think of another quip.

"Miro, please, we're in my private study. You can call me by my given name and stop bowing. The Duke and I would thank you to not be so formal." The older man catches himself tipping into another bow before stopping and nodding. 

'Of course, Prince Philipp. But, ah, the King has assigned me the task of finding a suitable match for Your-you to comply with his wish and even had a suggestion to pass on to you in confidence." His eyebrows shot up and even Bastian wiped off any careful vestige of disinterest at the words. For the King to put forth a name wasn't a random occurrence, not with the plans in motion currently. Philipp would have more of an inkling as to why the sudden rush for him to get married withe the name, but he equally feared it now that Claudia was out of the race.

"Well?" Basti demanded eagerly. Philipp shut his eyes, the beginning of a migraine or perhaps the wine on an empty stomach coming into play. 

Miro shuffled, well, shuffled awkwardly as only Miroslav could which was more of a sway and a step towards the door in trepidation and immediately going still in guilt. There was only a scant few years between them but Miro prided himself in acting like Philipp's great-uncle, decades older than his actual age. The Prince could only shake his head in equal parts of fondness and respect for him. His family had served the Kingdom loyally for many, many years, even gaining a Lordship, but Miro insisted on not getting any preferential treatment from the staff.

"Your Royal Highness had put forth the scion of the Ballack family, Prince Michael of the Sorbian territories." Bastian's face crumpled, red with suppressing the peals of laughter that were squeaking past his lips anyway. Philipp darkly wished he would choke on his own air as his laughter got louder. The Prince felt his heart ramp up speed, although outwardly he felt cold as stone at the news. 

"You c-can't be serious." Bastian gasped out, bowed in his chair with nary a care at the picture he made. "They hated each other as boys, Miro, you can't tell me you don't remember," He exclaims. 

Philipp sinks into his seat. It was a regrettable affair, Michael Ballack and he had laid waste to many of his grandmother's gardens in vicious, childish games of rivalry. He had not seen the other Prince since he was on the cusp of ascending to his title. The crown had glittered on top of his dark hair like the stars on a clear night. Envy had burned through him but Philipp could not recall why anymore. There had been a strange air of regret as they had said their goodbyes that night. Philipp still all angles with stubborn spots on his face, growing into his refinement and Micha already looking like a proper King. the weight of the mantle on his narrow shoulders. 

"Philipp?" Miro gently prods him and he returns to the present, letting go of the fabric of his pants caught in his fists unknowingly. Bastian had sobered up in the interim, sipping at water, cautious eyes waiting for his reaction.

"Miro, I want you to compile profiles for the available royalty in neighboring kingdoms and states, including Prince Ballack. We'll shelve the rest of the world for now. As much as I enjoyed my time abroad, I would think our subjects would rather see a familiar face on the throne next to me." His voice is steadier than he could've predicted in the seconds it took his brain to kick into gear. If His King wanted this for him. He would do his best to find a better match than Michael Ballack and definitely find out why the name had crossed his father's mind.

Miro and Basti exchanged a brief look before the advisor bowed shortly. "Yes, Your Highness, I will do so immediately."

-

He growled under his breath at the report in his hands. Thomas fidgeted, preferring to stand in any situation that did not involve food, as if constantly waiting to be on the run. Mueller was technically a Baron, through an incident where he saved a cousin of Philipp's but there was also the matter of a certain court scandal and rumors never proven true that Thomas blithely ignored concerning his bloodline. He was content being a sort of private courier to the Prince, uncomfortable with the court life. As a result, Miro had taken him under his wing to teach and Holger had employed him as an overseer of the lands given to him as he was in too poor of health of manage the days on horseback to and fro.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do to stop this. Michael had agreed to visiting the kingdom in a period of re-acquaintance. He was leaving the matters of his own territory with his General, a titan of a man named Kahn and his successor from a smaller family branch. Prince Michael was really only a prince by title, reigning over the land as a King would. He had the strongest ties to the throne but the Sorbians did things differently than in Bavaria. Philipp rubbed at his face, tired of finding dead ends. 

"If I may, Prince Philipp, why are you looking into the affairs of the east? I had heard this visit from the Prince was, well, finalized." Thomas may look more like a boy than a man, but he was whip-smart and had a better nose than a bloodhound when it came to interesting information. Philipp and Miro capitalized on that skill for the benefit of the kingdom. After months of stalling, the King didn't want to hear another tiresome argument and the Prince had to agree that out of all the potential candidates, Micha was the best choice. 

The closest of his family was already congratulating him for a suitable match, though nothing was explicitly stated as of yet. 

"Curiousity, Thomas. My father had this arranged and I am well past the age of contracts. Either there is an immediate benefit to the agreement or a long-term effect in question and I cannot figure it out. The King is neither ailing nor in any hurry to pass on the throne. Heirs aren't being factored in as we are both males, not to mention we could groom a successor as Prince Ballack has done with his Heir Apparent Kroos. There is no talk of threats nor war. It is a puzzling situation to be put in." 

Thomas cocks his head as oddly as a bird hunting for a worm in thawing ground. His mismatched eyes of blue and green taking in Philipp's frustration in the silence of the room before smiling widely as per usual, the serious moment swallowed up by time's ever moving presence.

"I suppose you could ask the Prince yourself when he arrives, then your curiousity will be sated. You have to have a great deal of patience on a hunt, Prince Philipp. I'm sure, soon enough, you'll find your prize." He jauntily clicks his boots together and bows with his arm slightly askew. He is dismissed with a distracted hand and a small smile.

It wasn't a secret that the Prince loved the thrill of the Hunt and perhaps Thomas was right. When hunting, you could never prepare for every eventuality. Philipp only had to trust his own experience and instincts to help him catch the beast. He had to familiarize himself with it, learn the strength and weaknesses to be victorious. This was like any other quest. Philipp had to start small, find the tracks and eventually, he would get to the bottom of it. The big picture was already set, but the details, he could work with.

-

"You really are nervous, aren't you?" Bastian mutters beside him, unlucky in being well within the palace grounds as the visiting Prince's contingent had come into view. Philipp barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes at his oldest friend. Growing up with the Duke of Kolbemoor had been no easy task for the Crown Prince. There had been great times and terrible times and even the fleeting days of pubescent romance. Bastian had the dubious honor of his first kiss, although Philipp had not been his, but their friendship had never wavered or faltered. 

Philipp had even considered proposing to Bastian in a bid to derail the arrangement with Prince Michael.

"Fips, I cherish you dearly, but I couldn't share a marriage bed with you. And both you and I know, the King would never believe the sudden change of heart." Philipp knew Basti was serious with the usage of his childhood nickname. He huffed even so at the protest, stubbornly clinging to the option.

"We have shared much of our time, Bastian, the King wouldn't care about the _romance_." The blonde chuckled before pinching his cheek in jest. Philipp smacked at his hand which only made the taller man gently cuff his head in his arm. 

"Now, listen to me, Princeling, that is exactly my point. I know you've got many, many plans in that head of yours and love is not factored in any of them. Perhaps this whole thing is the King's way of telling you to think about it." Philipp stops struggling to contemplate Bastian's unconventional wisdom. "You've got a better chance with a stranger than me." 

Except Michael Ballack wasn't a stranger to either of them. 

"No, but aren't you curious? It's been half a lifetime since we saw him." Bastian bites his lip, wrapping an arm around his shoulders loosely. 

"Oh, so it's not nerves, that's anticipation I see." Philipp snorts inelegantly at the moment the horses kick up dust close enough to sneeze. The front runner had a black beauty of a horse that would make Thomas jealous on breeding alone. The rider dismounted with an ease that Philipp envied. Bastian straightens up which sets off the chain of staff. The Prince is loose-limbed and Philipp feels his spine tighten in response, grasping for every inch of height he has because this is not the Prince Michael he knew at all.

The Prince of Sorbia gives him a moment of respite as he addresses the men of his company, laughing with a long haired man in a military uniform before turning to face the welcoming party. 

Philipp can practically feel Prince Michael's eyes on him like a ghostly hand but he forces nonchalance at the sensation. His walk is precise and sure as he comes closer. He vaguely remembers the reports of the Prince joining the military efforts during the years lost between them. It explains his entourage being made up of military. If it were anybody else, he would think him an ordinary commanding captain, but Philipp cannot shake the superimposed circlet of gold he had last seen on Micha's head. The dark stubble closely cropped on his face is new. The broad bulk of him is logical. 

He stands at attention an arm's length away, bowing with precision that only Miro could match in the presence of the King. His men followed the action. 

"Your Highness," he isn't smiling but Philipp can detect the lightness in his voice that usually conveys mocking. 

He bows his head in greeting, "Prince Michael Ballack of the Sorbian Territories, Captain of the guard. I must welcome you and your men to the Royal palace. There are stables for your horses and beds for the weary. Dinner will be at the sixth chime of the bells." There was a murmur of thanks and a shuffle of servants but he had not taken his eyes off the other Prince until Bastian surreptitiously poked his back. 

"Right, this is the Duke of Kolbemoor, Bastian Schweinsteiger and I'm sure you'll meet his cousin Holger Badstuber and the Baron of Paehl, Thomas Mueller at the Hunt in a fortnight." Prince Michael smiles in earnest at the sight of the other man. 

"Schweini, you've grown." He gives a hearty laugh not unlike the one he shared with the Lieutenant still in his shadow, silent and watching. Philipp grinds his teeth for a second before meeting the eyes of the long-haired man. His eyebrows were curiously light in contrast to his rich brown hair.

Micha gestures the man forward, "This is Torsten Frings, my second in command." 

-

He paces the floor of his bedroom, knowing no one will disturb him unless it was dire. Philipp had seen Prince Michael follow the King with a studied ease that was betrayed by the set of his shoulders. Bastian had been absolutely juvenile during dinner. Entertaining for the strangers sure but irritating for the Crown Prince. 

"I am not a lady of the court, nor do I need to be escorted around. I can go investigate, surely, they have finished their conversation by now." Philipp still hesitates at his door. He should prepare for the next day, the real test beginning tomorrow. He _should_ get the rest he had failed to procure the night before but his damnable curiousity kept him from donning his night clothes. A voice similar to Bastian's rang in his head, _you know what they say about cats_. He opens the door and practically stomps down to the open foyer, if anything, he can blame a trip to the kitchens to hunt down some tea. 

He doesn't expect to see Micha gazing at the portraits the line the walls, generations of men and women who ruled, ending in his own likeness. He had not smiled for the portrait, the long hours filled with boredom, in his best hunting jacket and riding boots to paint a picture of a young man turned serious Prince. The rich green background mimicked the color of the heart of a forest and was possibly his favorite part of the painting. 

"I didn't think you were a student of the arts," Philipp remarks. Prince Michael jumps minutely, turning slowly as if to make a point. 

"Is it true that the great master Buffon came from Italy to paint you?" He shivers, the stone not trapping the heat of the low fireplace. They both stare up at the painting. It seems larger than normal to Philipp. In the dark, shadows cast by the candles reflect strangely onto his flat doppelganger. 

"Yes." Gianluigi had been fascinating and lively, and the last push the little Prince needed to convince himself on studying abroad. He had a mind that was more formidable than a sword when sharpened by the world's whetstone. His father had agreed that the command of an army would not be in the cards for his son. He had served for as long as duty held him and washed it down with the heat of Africa and the cold of the North. It is then he had grown into the man he would become, the man he was destined to be.

"Is it to your liking?" He did not know whether Prince Michael meant the portrait or the arrangement. The cold and silence broken with the question. 

He meets his painted eyes in lieu of looking at his betrothed.

"It is very realistic." 

Micha huffs out a laugh, different than anything he had heard during the evening, more genuine even, though a small part of Philipp rankled at being the joke in every conversation they had held so far.

"I should think you might have been better suited with a crown of laurels around your head, Your Highness." There is that same unbearable teasing quality in his speech that Philipp can no longer pretend he is having a conversation with air. He turns to the taller man, though he may be, he used all his courtly lessons to intimidate not by stature but by attitude only a Crown Prince could achieve. 

"And you, a stag's antlers," he retorts waspishly, standing his ground. Prince Ballack's green eyes shine with mirth, acquiescing with a tilt of his head. 

"I suppose," the quiet puff of air stirs the hair at the top of his head and Philipp decides he has wasted enough of the night on pleasantries and talk, stepping back with hands tightly held behind his back. He bends, not quite a bow, not quite at the level of an equal, not yet at least. 

"Good night, Prince Ballack." 

"Good night, Prince Philipp," he responds with a grand bow, sweeping and elegant.

Somehow that irritates the Prince even further.


	2. Chapter 2

"Would you stop that, it's giving me a headache." Torsten complains from his sprawl on the fainting couch. He had been in quite a mood since arriving to the palace, uncomfortable in the opulence of the palace. He had to keep outward appearances for the good of the army and his rank but inside the ridiculous room Micha had been given for the stay, he could hang up his boots. Torsten was just a farmer's son who owed Captain Ballack a life-debt until the friendship had grown naturally as Micha confided in him more which included the present mess he was witnessing.

The groove the Prince was wearing into the carpet under his feet was laughable. 

"I do not know why the little Prince has got you into such knots. This is why I shall elope without any of the fuss and I say you should do the same, Captain." The rakish grin on his face is suggestive in way Micha did not want to take into account. There was no way, shape or form, he could elope with Prince Philipp. 

"You could snatch him in the Hunt yourself, Captain. I've heard it's a common practice in the North, stealing your bride is as binding as a vow to the King." Torsten succeeded in his goal of getting the Prince to stop pacing with his ludicrous thoughts.

"Don't be barbaric, Frings. It is the eve of the Hunt and I won't have you embarrassing me with talk of eloping and such nonsense. Besides Philipp is an accomplished Hunter if the talk has any truth to it. So I must prepare to catch something worthy of reputation and you shall help me, you layabout. Bavarian Boar will be a prize for your palate, Frings." 

Torsten saluted his assent, "Aye, Captain," under his breath he added, "I would believe big game would confuse the Prince for but a small morsel." He got a slap to the back of the head for his insubordination.

-

Thomas had brought the best horses for the his party to ride, even as he shot covetous glances to the steed under Prince Michael. Philipp truly believed if not for the fortuitous accident that led him to be a Baron, Thomas would be happy as a stable hand, taking care of the King's horses.

Prince Michael's men had whittled down to a handful of participants. Their numbers skewed in favor of the Crown Prince, but Philipp was notorious for leaving his men on the chase. Unofficially, he had more on the line this time as it would probably be the last Hunt before the engagement was announced, perhaps even the last Hunt before the ceremonial festivities.

"It is an advantageous match, Philipp. Why do you have such reservations to it? Prince Ballack is an upstanding noble with a fine background. Their wealth and connections would only expand our influence. You are a gentleman and my son. By your age, I was already married, Philipp. I have assuaged your worries and can only assure you that there is no impending doom at our doorstep by accepting the offer." The Prince got up from the knee he had taken, quietly and respectfully listening to the King. 

"Yes, my King. I can only defend my wariness as the unexpected has a way of bringing change one cannot predict, especially with the involvement of Prince Ballack." He had nothing else to add, no concrete suspicions to point to, no good reason a Prince could use to go against the wishes of his father. 

The King had given him a month to get comfortable with the aspect, and Philipp was grateful for it. He bowed his retreat.

"Philipp," he stopped, "do try to give the Prince a chance to redeem himself from childhood follies. Stubbornness will only hinder you in this task." Philipp nods once to signal his assent before walking toward the golden doors.

The forest was an old friend to Philipp. He was sharp and a good tracker.

The horn would've startled the animal life deeper into the woods and the horses would only be a distraction and a danger. His gun was on his back and his riding boots slightly muddy from the softer earth, still damp from the early dew. He breathed in through his nose and out his mouth to minimize the sound. The Hunt was a treat for him. He felt at peace in the woods, moreso than in the palace. A snap of dry twigs made him swing the butt of the gun into his hands. 

It was not the stag he had expected. He lowered the gun, "Prince Michael." 

They had gotten lost in the woods once, as children. Micha had pushed him into the dirt for "camouflage" and elevated himself to the leader, gamely skipping in front of him, expecting Philipp to follow. 

"They tell me you've been on the hunt for a particularly spirited beast." 

Philipp had gotten retaliation by tripping the gangly Prince into poison oak. He didn't recall where Bastian had been for that incident, missing just as he was now. The smaller Prince had called Micha all sort of names as they found their way back including insufferable and an oaf. He wondered if the incident was worth remembering beyond the itching he had caused to the older Prince.

"I've only spotted him once, but this is my third outing in the hopes of capturing him. The tracks are still fresh." He is wound tight, holding himself to another standard in front of the other Prince still trying to prove something.

Micha holds out a gloved hand to him. He is hesitant to take the offer, unexplained and unnecessary. 

"Two pairs of eyes is better than one, Your Highness. Let me help you in this endeavor. Hunting for sport has never been my passion but I have learned a thing or two on following orders." He favors him with a wry smile, better than the charming grins and laughing eyes he had grown accustomed to as of late.

"Alright, but try not to plod along like a common soldier." Philipp takes his hand, caught between shaking it and holding it. The older makes the decision for him, lightly squeezing it, the soft leather cool against his skin before dropping to his side. 

"I will try for your sake." Philipp frowns, a niggle of doubt in his mind. He had snuck up on him before, and history had only proven Micha to have light feet in order to bring Philipp down into the dirt through trickery and a false sense of safety. He might think Prince Ballack had just attempted a joke with their shared memory.

He walked on ahead to clear his head and lead the way.

-

"Miroslav told me to expect you at some point." Arne's voice reverberated through the church. Micha crossed himself as he entered the sanctuary. His heavy boots echoes on the stone as he approached the priest. Arne looked like he hadn't aged a day since the last time the Prince had seen him. The white-clad man smiled with his eyes at the sight of Micha shaking off the damp of his cloak.

"I needed an outside opinion." The priest clucked at him but led him to the back past the few parishioners in the pews. 

"I think your own common sense would make due, Prince Ballack. You, as well as I, know you won't get anywhere with the Prince when he smells something is afoot. His own blindness is of course in your favor with regards to your feelings." Micha takes a seat in the small alcove that was set aside for Arne as the head of the parish. The desk looking mighty tempting to bash his own skull against. Philipp was as intriguing as he was difficult. Gaining a step forward only brought him to a harder challenge to break against. 

"Please, Arne, we were once brothers by pact of blood. I value your honesty, old friend." They had sworn as all boys do with spit and skinned knees to support their dreams of knighthood and glory together, but Arne had found another calling and Micha had been called away as his father was found ailing in the east. His summers in Bavaria cut short and responsibilities piled on. 

Arne sighed, "Michael, as you value _my_ honesty, Philipp would value yours. He guards that heart of his as a dragon would his hoard. He has lived with one image of you his entire life, and you come back into the picture without warning expecting more than he has given to any other. Affection is hard-earned with him and he does not have the assistance of your letters to attest for your maturity." He folded his hands on the desk primly, admonishment heavy in the air.

Micha's hands skittered across the old wood, patterns emerging without thought. He had known all of this to be true. The King had all but warned him that his son would not give up some conspiracy over belief. Philipp had only faith in his countrymen and himself. 

"I am but a clergyman but I know love cannot begin with deceit, which is exactly what this will wind up being if you do not confess to the Prince instead of carrying on with this uphill battle. He has keen senses, that prince of ours, and you smell of trouble right away." Arne jests lightly to make Micha's troubled brow lift for a moment.

"A simple clergyman hah," the Prince scoffs, knowing Arne could still charm the men and women of the town if not for his oath. Micha broods darkly, tangled in his thoughts of the past, of the utter prick he had been to the younger prince. If only Arne had warned him earlier of his past coming back to haunt him, if only the younger Michael would've heeded such a warning. 

"He does like me, you know. It only took three times the length I had thought to get him to smile in my presence without Bastian there to soften the blow." 

Arne pats his hand in consolation. It was almost near the end of his stay. Micha was running out of time.

"All the more reason to tell him, Michael." The Prince sighs deeply, but fixes his gaze in determination. Arne was familiar with the expression, Michael wouldn't give up just yet. He had his doubts and moments of weakness before charging forward with everything he had. It was what made Arne follow him as a boy and would continue to do so as a man. He knew his counsel was just a step in the right direction for the Prince. 

He stood up, "Well, I shouldn't waste the trip here, where is your protege, the Mertesacker lad you write so much about?" Arne flushes before redirecting the conversation to the verity of the King's request of the Cardinal Josep Guardiola to the palace.

-

Three days had passed since his discussion with Arne and Micha had been wrestling with what action to take. Two days would mark exactly a month since he had arrived and he had very little to show for it. Philipp had made his position clear, and as much as Micha knew the King would proceed with the announcement--officially making it known that the Prince of Sorbia and the Prince of Bavaria would embark in holy union--it did not sit right with him.

He had been plagued with dreams of yesteryear, of the slow souring of their fledgling friendship as if caught in his personal purgatory during the night. 

The only respite had been the early dawn where he would rouse one of his contingent to cross swords in the courtyard, getting out his frustration with the clang of steel. He could clear his mind of Philipp and focus on himself and his opponent. Torsten had damned his name under his breath for the early start until he noticed the audience they had attracted among the staff. 

His lieutenant hopped off the low stone wall acting as a natural barrier for his turn, taking his uniform jacket off to show off the muscles of his arms. Torsten leaned in with a queer smile on his face, and Micha was sure he was going to boast or threaten to maim his "pretty" face once and for all.

"Your little Prince has been watching from his tower window since the first time you made me wake up at this unholy hour." He nods up to the palace behind Micha's back before striking, making the Prince scramble in retaliation. 

He hadn't had time to check if Torsten's claims were true but the Princes had been taking their midday meals together, sometimes joined by others and sometimes not. If not for Micha's determination to change his mind, he would've thought it a clever form of torture and humilliation from the Crown prince. Conversation was limited to spheres of influence, politics and books, things Philipp would have the upper hand in, though Micha tried his hardest to interject and surprise him. 

This lunch was served in one of the smaller libraries Philipp preferred without a single soul besides them in the room. A table had been set with enough food for double their number and a narrow ornate vase with a single bloom. 

"What do you do in the early morning hours, Prince Philipp?" His eyebrow rose but beyond that there was no outward reaction. 

"That's a bold question, Prince Ballack." His hand tightened on his fork to spear a bit of fruit.

"I suppose so, I only mention it because I like to train with my men as the dawn rises, did you know?" The Prince's lips pressed into a thin pale line. He took a moment to chew and swallow before giving an answer, his storm blue eyes roaming his face. It is the same face he has seen examining a chess board and the maps that line a corner of the strategy room. 

"You may do what you like with your free time. If you must know, I read." The lines between his eyebrows pinch in and Micha smiles widely, still not touching the meal. 

"Liar," he declares, "Your eyebrows give you away." Said eyebrows tilted and wiggled in displeasure as Philipp fought the instinctual tilt of his head by raising his chin. He smiled placidly at him recovering his cool disaffection, which made Micha want to break something expensive.

"Crown prince Lahm," he starts, bowing his head for a moment in deference to the title before raising his head high, "I would like to formally call off our engagement." The fork drops with a clatter against the lip of the plate. It is the best reaction he could have hoped for in the circumstances. Philipp isn't gaping but his lips are parted in shock, blood draining from his face. Michael clears his throat to continue, making sure he still has his attention.

"Did you know we were in London at the same time? I saw you and I thought it was a mirage brought on by drink or too little sleep. You had grown up without my notice. I had missed your appointment for some reason or the other, but I regret it now. Olli had told me I should make my apologies for all those years before. I was a terror and an ass, I can admit it. Kahn put my head on straight and made me suffer for it but I was made a better man for it. After getting back from London, I approached your father." He confessed and that was the last straw for Prince Philipp, who rose from his chair in a hurry.

-

He had gone to his father, _willingly_. That was the missing piece. It wasn't some sort of obligation for Prince Ballack, it was a request, a request the King had granted. Philipp felt faint, outrage coursing through his blood. 

"You--you--" he didn't know where to begin. He had no earthly idea on what to say. Coming to grips with the man Michael Ballack had become in these short weeks was a struggle between his common sense and his trust, but the revelation had left him out of breath, feeling like he was thirteen and had fallen for one of Micha's mean little pranks again.

"It was wrong of me to push this farce on you. I asked your father not to tell you, begged really, for the time to make up your mind for yourself. I was sure, well," Michael looked away, down to his untouched food, back up to some undetermined spot behind him. That small wry smile that had convinced Philipp making an appearance once more. "My ego again led me astray and I know my second chance has been ruined by that omission. I wanted you to feel as I felt, but realize by putting you in this arrangement, it had robbed you of any space for true affection to naturally occur." 

Philipp bit his lip hard enough to bleed. Confusion bled into the anger he felt. His face felt hot and his hands were balled on the table, waiting to gain momentum. 

" _I wanted you to feel as I felt_ ," he repeated shakily, "and what is it you feel, Prince Ballack?" 

Micha stared up at him with eyes the color of ivy in the shade, throat pale and vulnerable. 

"I love you, Philipp."


	3. Chapter 3

He caught the stag.

After accepting calling off their engagement, Philipp had not wanted to see anyone else. The rumors were rampant among the staff and servants as the Princes left the library separately and in various amounts of distress. Bastian had been away attending to some business with his godfather Joachim when Thomas had found him on behalf of Miro. 

Thomas had lent Bastian his mare to make headway in time to catch Micha and find out what exactly happened to dissolve the arrangement. 

By the time someone had noticed Philipp was missing and one of the stable hands reported seeing the Prince, Bastian had worked himself into a fit of worry over his best friend. His horse had not come back and Philipp had not sounded the horn he had stolen. The King was in the midst of forming a search party with Miroslav and General Hoeness when the Rode boy acting as a sentry burst into the room. 

"Are you mad? Taking on this beast by youself!" Bastian practically shrieks, still looking him over for injuries. His clothes were speckled with blood and covered in dirt, but nothing jumped out besides irritation. Philipp only rolls his eyes in exasperation at the dramatics. He had tied the horse to a tree in order to use it to pull the stag out of the forest. Facing the chief officers and his father, he bowed in apology for all the worry he had caused. 

"If I may speak to the King _alone_?" Bastian shut his mouth with an audible click, blinking in surprise at his first order of business coming back from some sort of emotional upheaval that drove him to the woods.

The dismissal is easy, but not silent, especially in the case of Bastian.

"You missed Prince Ballack leaving." Philipp smiles, bemused at the almost whisper.

"I know," he is calmer than expected and the King patiently waits for his son to gather his thoughts, having an inkling on what was already on his mind.

"If you wanted venison for the farewell feast, you overestimated your hunting capabilities, my son. I assume you have worked through your grievances against the Sorbian Prince?" He is leveled a look only a father with good intention could give an erroneous son who had acted out at the worst possible time. Philipp accepts the chastising with grace. Exhaustion was catching up to him. 

"I believe you've overestimated my adjustment period to the idea of marriage." The Kings' laughter booms in the meeting chamber unexpectedly. Philipp may be dead on his feet but he still had an quick quip for any situation. His stubbornness prevailed in the worst of ways. 

"I had a feeling you would say that. I managed to convince the reluctant prince to postpone a decision that should be made with clear heads by the both of you. The possibility of an extended stay was out of the question for Prince Ballack so I suggest you make up a plan to dispel any interesting rumors circling around over the events." He had complete faith in his son's ability to counter what was surely going to be scandal with discretion. His worry was with the young Prince Ballack's state and how Philipp was going to remedy that.

"Of course, father. I'll need a few days."

-

"What in the name of our Lord and Liege are you planning? Why is Thomas bringing in Manuel Neuer and Sami to the palace?" Bastian barged into his room without a care of Sophia's protests. He had been acting out, checking in on Philipp to make sure he was where he should be after pulling his disappearing trick. Miroslav was too busy with these mysterious plans to keep an eye on the Prince and Bastian had volunteered to stick to him like an unpleasant odor.

"Oh good, you heard about that then?" Philipp takes his eyes away from his book for a second to see Bastian pouting. He hadn't even gotten out of bed and already he was being pestered. 

"Fips, I think this has gone far enough without me, your faithful friend and brother in all but blood knowing what exactly is in that big head of yours. Why is the best silver and gold smith this side of the Rhein coming here on urgent business? I don't know what to believe, but I know you wouldn't be putting this much effort into something without being sure of any long-lasting repercussions. Micha left, you killed your fabled stag and your engagement is seemingly up in the air," He stopped to breathe before continuing, "yet Manuel Neuer is still involved and the only Italian connection you have left in the country is coming for a visit. Highly suspicious, my friend."

He puts his book down on the coverlet still up to his waist. 

"It's killing you, not knowing isn't it? Very well, I shall tell you." Philipp takes in a deep breath.

"Prince Ballack was wrong on many accounts. The most important one being my feelings. I did feel betrayed and enraged by the breadth of his machinations, but in the end, it changed nothing in the respect of my affections and where I chose to lay them. He is an utter bastard but I can admire the qualities and risks he had to take because being in his position, I might've done the same."

Bastian gaped, "Does that mean you've forgiven him?"

"Hardly," Philipp snorts. "It will not be any easy thing to forget and I think the token I have in mind forged by the great Manuel Neuer should deliver the message quite nicely." His friend shakes his head muttering about the backwards courtship rituals of mad Princes.

"If you would shut the door on your way out, Basti, I have to get dressed for my meetings." The cheek which with the words were said was of a younger Philipp, one Bastian hadn't seen in years. He may not understand but he approved if this was the result.

-

The commotion at the gate wasn't what he expected from the missive a week prior. Micha had been under no such illusions and had hardly imagined the outcome when the young Baron had requested an audience with him and offered him a gift. He cuts through the soldiers and people to find Prince Philipp surrounded, without any outside help. The thick braid of gold around his neck weighs him off-balance at the sight.

"Your Highness, I do hope the King knows your whereabouts this time." Philipp turns in place, humor written all over his face as he bows. The crowd starts anew at the greeting, court gossip hinging on the next moment.

"Your Majesty, my father is well aware of my coming to visit my _betrothed_." Christian, who had been present as part of his guard in the weeks of his stay, coughs in polite surprise near his elbow. Micha tucks his chin in just barely, acknowledging that by accepting and wearing the token in the presence of his emissary, he had played into his plans.

The tittering reaches a new high. 

He had been outmaneuvered by the Prince. It would be everywhere by noon tomorrow that the Bavarian royal was staying in Sorbia to further delve into their courtship. His head chef was going to kill him for not giving him any notice of the Prince's arrival. Kahn was going to piss himself laughing, which would surely terrify half the court.

The gold tipped tine on his chest swayed in the sunlight as they walked side by side. The air of satisfaction around the younger man was pronounced by his raised head and broad smile unlike any he had seen before.

"Did you make the journey alone, Prince Philipp?" He murmurs low beside him. Eyes were on them as they passed through the court. He felt inexplicably measured and found wanting by the sharp cut of Philipp's gaze. He would always be on the wrong foot with the Prince, and bygones would not be bygones until he dutifully gave his all to rectify the blunder of his proposal. 

"I find doing things myself the best way to accomplish what needs to be done, my Prince." The tone is matter of fact, tinged with the mocking affection he is used to hearing in conjunction with Bastian. 

Micha's step faltered before resuming normal pace. 

"I believe I've already tried to convince you of the benefits of a partnership." Philipp's eyes drop down to his gift with a challenging eyebrow raised.

"I suppose you'll have to try harder to prove your argument correct, Prince Ballack." This smile lights an ember in Micha, warmth spreading from his chest to his collar. The follies of falling in love with such a man as the Prince, with all their shared history and trials, were innumerable yet as he met the remarkable eyes of his betrothed, there was no other option but to forge ahead.

"I look forward to it, Your Highness."

The people of Sorbia could only speculate on the strange customs of the Bavarian nobility and their courtship rituals as time passed on. The story of their Prince Ballack and the legendary beast of the forest Prince Lahm had slain to prove his worth would grow and get more fanciful as it crossed borders and languages.

-

Philipp only had one guess as to where Micha was in the middle of the night. 

"One would think you are obsessed with my painted visage with the way you haunt this hall, Micha." It was the same portrait in the same place they had started this journey. Philipp could not understand his urge to stare upon it at any given moment. The Master Buffon would arrive within a few days to commemorate their union in a portrait and the Prince of Sorbia had taken to wandering to this spot since the announcement.

"Jealous, Your Majesty?" he teases without any bite, "I only mean to admire the style of the Signore Buffon's mastery. Besides I have discovered a flaw in this particular portrait, being so familiar with the subject myself." Philipp drew closer as if to inspect the painting as well. He leaned into the Prince as an arm came around him. Mentally noting that GianLuigi would abhor the cold settling in the palace as the months ceded to winter.

"And what is this flaw? This picture has hung here for half a dozen years and no one has found a fault beyond yourself." Micha chuckled at the crabby response. 

"He got your eyes wrong, Philipp. I do hope he should get them right this time around or I shall have to speak to him about his attention to detail." His grip on Micha's arms turned into a vice at the jest.

"You will not make yourself look like a fool in front of Master Buffon. It was a near-miss with Josep, if not for the goodness of Arne's heart, you were very near to derailing our ceremony and branding yourself a heathen." Thomas had elicited an even worse response from the Spanish cardinal and Philipp still wondered what possessed Miroslav to agree to Guardiola being in charge of the pre-evaluation of the Princes along with the marital rites. 

His response was only to kiss the top of his brow in fondness, soothing the ruffled feathers of the Prince.

"You exaggerate. Cardinal Guardiola was just not used to such honesty. The Spanish nobility must think us as strange as our tales." Philipp hummed in agreement. 

"I should convince GianLuigi to give you horns, that would certainly frighten the Cardinal." Micha's smile was contagious even in the early hours no matter how much the Prince wanted to keep his disapproving stare on his companion. Hooves would probably be too much to ask for without offense from the Italian.

"Whatever you wish, my Prince."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, with the luck of the Irish, I managed to pull this off with not too shabby an ending. Thanks to everyone who read it!
> 
> p.s. Thomas was totally Philipp's successor to the throne.
> 
> p.p.s. "philipp sitting on a huge-ass golden throne in dark red satin and with a heavy crown, micha next to him, their hands are lightly touching: the aesthetic" Frauke being spot on with what their portrait would look like.
> 
> p.p.s. a tine is one of the branches of an antler. And the third tine from the base is actually called the "royal antler" so appropiate right?


End file.
